


The Things We Don't Know

by teamfreetitan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Crying, Heartbreak, Love Confessions, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreetitan/pseuds/teamfreetitan
Summary: After a breakup with Germany, Italy invites his friend, Prussia, over for wine drinking and an emotional discussion in reflection of the events. Prussia reveals a jarring confession, an unintentional secret, bound to change Italy's feelings.





	The Things We Don't Know

Prussia reached a hand up to pull his blue jacket from the metal hook near the door of Austria and Hungary’s house. He slid the sleeves over his arms as he brushed down the fabric. Thankfully, having been in the backyard previously, his boots were still on, cutting down on the time he used to get ready. As soon as he had gotten the message, he had responded.

The text had come from Italy, and it was a rambling mess. What Prussia had guaged from it was that Italy and Germany had broken up - no details on that - and that Italy was sad and drinking and alone, as Romano was out with Spain. He needed a friend or someone’s shoulder to cry on, and he was happy to comply. He noticed Germany had been avoiding his messages all afternoon and into the evening, and he had been curious why; the German was usually good about that sort of thing. He didn’t want to disturb Germany, whether he was angry or sad: he knew his brother and it was usually best to let him cool off with a beer or two before riling him up again.

His knock on the door was quickly responded to as the ood swung aside. Italy wore forest green sweatpants and a black shirt which was either intentionally cut short or from a time he was much shorter, as his waist, hips, and stomach were revealed by the clothing. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes were red.

“Prussia!” he shouted, his lips forcing a smile which he guessed had not come out all day.

“Hey, Italy,” the German brother responded with a smile. Not that he was happy to see Italy in tears, but more as a response to the other’s smile.

Italy dragged him inside to his room. With an audible sigh, Italy flopped down on the mattress; Prussia hesitantly sat beside him on the edge of the furniture. Italy reached a hand to the bedside table to grab a bottle of wine, which he brought to his lips and tilted back. He didn’t come up for air for a long while.

Holding the bottle out, he asked, “Want some?”

With a sort of screw-that mentality, Prussia took the drink and consumed some himself. It made him feel warm inside, fuzzy almost, and the drink was close enough to empty that he drained it. It clanked against the wood of the table as he set the empty glass down. Italy, who was certainly growing more and more drunk, giggled.

He leaned to scrounge around the cavity under the bed to pull out another bottle.

Popping it to take another drink, he commented, “I don’t think Germany loves me anymore.”

Prussia leaned back a little on the bed, sitting more comfortably with his friend. He knew that whatever conversation was coming wouldn’t be short - or easy. Letting his boots fall to the floor, he pushed his back against the headboard and looked over at Italy. He let Italy elaborate as he grabbed for the drink to continue drinking.

“What happened?” he asked as encouragement to continue. There was a sick part of him which wanted to know every detail about Italy’s love life, a sick and controlling little part, that craved to know every painful detail.

Italy sniffled. “Well,” he began, “There were a couple things. I guess that I’ve been annoying him recently - he’s so stern - and he never said anything so I just kept annoying him. Like, just being messy and loud and stuff. But I never thought to change any of my actions because he never said they were an issue, at least not seriously.” Drink. “But he really got upset at dinner, see. I mean, I’m a very flirtatious person, right? As most of the Mediterraneans are?”

“Right.”

“And I’ll admit that I sometimes want to make Germany a little jealous, okay? He is so  _ stern _ and I’m so open and sometimes I worry he doesn’t love me like I do him. So at dinner I had called a waitress cute, but instead of making him a little jealous he just got  _ angry _ .”

“And?”

“And he just went off about all the little things that I do that upset him, like getting paint all over or being too loud or being one of the weakest nations - his words - so I had kind of responded that he wasn’t perfect either, and we just kept fighting until he told me that this wasn’t going to work out. Actually, what he said was that I was compatible with him but he wasn’t compatible with me. And my heart just shattered, like of course we’re compatible, but I shouldn’t have to fight him on that! He should know that if we’re dating!” Italy huffed. “Not that it matters now.”

By the time he had finished his rant and explanation, he was in tears again, and Prussia was halfway down on the bottle. Italy brought his hands up to wipe away his tears, feeling guilty about crying in front of Prussia, who was setting the bottle down.

He handed Italy the tissues, which he accepted with gratitude.

“I don’t even understand how we’re not compatible,” he confessed.

The thing about countries was the regional differences and patterns in compatibility. For example, the Asian countries tended to be more compatible with the other Asian countries. Or larger nations tended to be more compatible with other large countries. Within their regions, they had traits they shared, such as the Italian brothers all having an affinity for siestas and pasta, or the Nordics having similar tastes. The pattern extended, too, that attraction was similar; it was common knowledge that the Mediterranean had a historical affiliation with the German nations. Of course, there were exceptions. But the pattern was clear.

So of course, hypothetically, they would be compatible.

“Do you know how I met Germany?” Italy asked.

“Vaguely,” confessed the other. “World War One, some time, yes?”

Italy nodded. “I was an Ally then, not part of the Central Powers. And he found me in Europe, and he took me as a POW, but I didn’t fight or cry or try to get away. You know how I am, too, when I get scared. But I wasn’t scared. He even tried to let me go and I refused to. Because I knew he wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head.

Prussia shifted to look at him closer, asking, “How did you know? My brother can be a scary guy… Tall, strong, and you get scared by  _ England _ , who actually couldn’t do damage.” He laughed. “Unless you’re a good sausage, in which case he could destroy you.”

With a chuckle, Italy continued. “Well, it was obvious that he was the Holy Roman Empire. I mean, Holy Rome disappears and this man appears in the same land? They look exactly the same, and act exactly the same, too. I was certain that he must have been Holy Rome somehow. Maybe he had lost his memories when he went off to war back all those years ago, or maybe he was just a reincarnation of him. Anyhow, I knew he had to be Holy Rome. And Holy Rome loved me more than anyone has ever loved me, so of course it would explain why Germany was so kind to me. I was so compatible with Holy Rome, so of course I should be with Germany.”

The bottle smacked against the wood as Prussia put it down to suddenly. He sucked in a sharp burst of air through his parted lips and his heart sank.

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

“You don’t know,” Prussia said, more a statement than a question.

“What don’t I know?”

Where to begin? Italy was correct in his analysis of how the nations worked; when one country faded - lost sovereignty, more accurately - it would disappear until someone else took its place. Sometimes an existing country would take over, in which case the nation wouldn’t die, just fall under their control, such as Prussia living with Germany after his own country disappeared. Other times, it would turn into new countries - like Holy Rome had done.

For years, Prussia had been working under the assumption that Italy knew. Centuries he had understood it to be this way. Italy knew and had chosen someone else, not that he didn’t  _ know _ . Prussia had sat idly by and let Italy be happy, without realizing that his happiness, at least its roots, were all just an elaborate misunderstanding.

“Italy,  _ I’m _ Holy Rome.”

This got his attention. He leaned over to Prussia, as if trying to find the blue specks in his eyes or the blonde streaks in his hair; there were none.

“At least,” he continued, “More than Germany. Holy Rome’s lands broke down into both of us. And Germany looks more like him, yes, but… I’m closer to who Holy Rome was. His feelings. His, uh, memories. It’s hard to explain. I’m me, but I’m also him. Out of my brother and I, I’m the one who remembers the old days. The wars. You.”

Tears welled in Italy’s eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” Prussia sighed, acknowledging his question as more of an excited utterance than any real question of understanding. “I… I thought you knew. And I thought you chose him over me. And I never mentioned it because I wanted you to be happy.”

“What all do you remember?”

“I remember kissing you. And your gifts for me. And painting with you. And I remember being dragged away to fight and crying when I realized I would die and never make it back to you. But I remember waking up in this body, as Prussia. And I feel different; my personality is different and so are my looks. But I  _ remember _ being Holy Rome.”

Italy sunk down in his bed, holding his hands to his face. Prussia noticed he was crying again. “I spent a century trying to be Germany’s when it was all because I thought he was you.”

“No, no, don’t give up on him just because you know the truth now. He does love you, I promise, regardless of which one of us has Holy Rome’s memories. He loves you. And you love him.” 

“I loved Holy Rome,” whispered Italy.

Prussia made a move to leave. “I should leave you alone. To think.”

“Wait!” He turned back to look at Italy as he was slid half off the bed. “Do you love me now? As Prussia?”

“I do.”

“Will you kiss me? Please, just one kiss before you leave?”

It wasn’t wrong because Italy was single, he justified it to himself. Prussia bent over at the waist to reach Italy, his fingers brushing across his jawline as their lips locked, and his heart thudded, because he had waited centuries for this chance. He could secure himself with the knowledge that he would have at least one kiss, even if Italy decided to chose Germany over him; he had already come to terms with that. Italy tasted like wine and he reached up into the kiss with surprising fervor. 

“I’ll go,” Prussia said. “Think. And call me later. Please.”

His hope wasn’t restored, not fully, but something guiltily sparked within him. An opportunity. And he would need to beg his brother for forgiveness if things panned in Prussia’s favor, but… that was a bridge to cross.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
